


Always Loyal, Without Pride

by little_abyss



Series: Sleeping Dogs [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Body Paint, Dragon Age Kink Meme, M/M, Master/Pet, Oral Sex, Pet Play, Puppy Play, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Watersports, collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4216200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor confesses to Cullen that he'd like a dog.  Cullen confesses he'd like to be the Inquisitor's dog.  </p><p>From <a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=55448831#t55448831">this prompt</a> at the DAKM.  And yeah, the title is from <i>Andraste's Mabari</i>, and the kaddis is the Warpaint of the Vanguard - this is an Adaar who does his homework.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Loyal, Without Pride

The Inquisitor sighs, tugs at one of his horns and glances at Cullen.  They stand next to each other, close enough to touch, as their cloaks swirl around them in the freezing mountain wind.  “You know,” he says, almost wistfully, as they watch the recruits and the mabari from across the yard, “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

 

“Really?”  Cullen continues to watch the hound barking and dancing for the stick which a recruit is holding just out of its reach.  It is a young dog, painted with a kaddis that Cullen recognises as from the south-east of Fereldan; he thinks it’s called a kaddis of the Mountain Father.  “Really?” he repeats, frowning slightly now, and looks at Adaar quickly, wondering if he has noticed the heat rising to his cheeks.  Truth is, he’s always envied dogs; their great loyalty unquestioned, their unchecked love for their masters.  But that is only the husk of the idea - the kernel is that he wouldn’t object to  _ being _ a dog, or at least pretending to be one.  He swallows noisily and shakes his head, trying to dislodge the image of himself on all fours, muzzled and collared, a firm hand on his leash and nothing but loyalty and love in his heart.  Adaar turns to him and nods, “Yeah.  I just…” Then he pauses, frowning, and asks “Are you alright, Commander?  You’re all red.”

“Oh, am I?”  Cullen laughs, somewhat nervously, then nods and rubs the back of his neck.  He sighs, thinking  _ if you never ask, you never get _ _,_ and asks, “Inquisitor, if I might have a word?  When you have a moment?  In… er… in private?”  Adaar looks at him briefly, then he grins lopsidedly and says, “Certainly.  I have a moment now.  Come with me.”

 

They reach the second landing to the Inquisitorial apartments before Adaar takes Cullen by the shoulder and turns him, pushes him firmly against the wall.  “If you really wanted to talk, Cullen,” he says, nuzzling his nose along the tendons of Cullen’s neck just below his ear, “You’d better talk fast.”  Cullen chuckles a little, feels hot breath and the scrape of teeth on his ear now, and sighs, trying to frame words around what he wants.  “When you said about the dog…” he begins, and then stops, suddenly shy.  Then he clears his throat, puts his forehead on Adaar’s shoulder, notes the pause in the Vashoth’s hands and mouth, and says, “I was wondering… could I be your dog?”

 

Adaar pulls his face away from Cullen’s neck, though his hands remain on Cullen’s waist beneath his cloak.  He looks at Cullen wide-eyed for a moment, and then growls, “Yeah.  Yeah, Cullen, you could.  You’d be such a good puppy.  My good boy.”  He puts his palm on Cullen’s cheek, cupping his fingers around the ear and scratching gently, and Cullen grins and twists his head, nuzzling into Adaar’s hand.  “My good boy,” Adaar repeats, his tone fond.  Then he takes Cullen’s hand and leads him upstairs.

 

“So,” Adaar says, sitting on the edge of the bed, and beckoning Cullen to join him, “I guess we should talk about parameters.”

“Pa...parameters?  What do you mean?”

“Like… how far do you want to take this?  I’m happy to be your owner,” he grins slightly, raises an eyebrow and says, “Though I suppose it’s partner, if you’re a mabari.  But I want to know what you want, if you can tell me.”

Cullen pauses, rubs a gloved palm against the side of his neck again and sighs.  Putting his desires into words is not something he’s especially good at, or fond of doing for that matter, but he supposes Adaar has the right of it.  He thinks for a moment longer and sits beside Adaar, leaning a cheek against his well-muscled arm; partly for the comfort of it, partly so he won’t have to look at him as he’s speaking.  “I… I can’t say that I’ve ever done anything like this before,” he begins, then pauses to take a deep, steadying breath and continues, “I want… I want you to treat me exactly as you would a dog.”  Something in him lurches, and he says, all on one breath, hardly believing he is saying it, “Take me for walks. Feed me. Bathe me." He pauses, then continues, his voice husky, "Collar me.  Muzzle me.  I want to be your dog so I don’t have to think.”  He feels Adaar nod, and Cullen sighs, relieved.  

 

Adaar lifts his arm over Cullen’s shoulders, holding him against his chest so that when he next speaks, Cullen can hear and feel his voice rumbling through his body.  “Okay.  Tell me how this feels to you; when you’re my dog, you’ll always wear a collar.  That way there’s no slips, you’ll know when you are and when you’re not.  You won’t speak, but you can bark and whine as much as you want.  I’m going to teach you to do basic commands - sit up, fetch, stuff like that.  You can sleep on the bed, but you’re not allowed on the sofa; you’ll be punished for it.  Same goes if you take a piss anywhere but where I train you to go.  When you want to stop, tug your collar down twice.  Sound okay so far?”

“Yes.”  Cullen surprises himself by laughing, and Adaar chuckles and says, “Alright - good.  I have one last question; do you want a tail?”

“A… a tail?”

“Yeah.” Cullen hears the slight smile in Adaar’s voice as he continues, “Just wondering.  I bet I can make something that’ll make my puppy happy, and then I can fuck you when you decide you’re ready to stop being a dog for a while.”

“Yes, then.  Maker’s Breath, yes.” Cullen repeats, hearing the relief in his own voice. And then, because it’s what he feels, he says, “Thank you.  For not… not thinking less of me.”  He can hear the smile in the other man’s voice as Adaar tells him, “Cullen.  Why would I think less of you for asking for something you want?  Takes bravery to do that.”  The big Vashoth chuckles again, hugs Cullen tighter for a moment and then says, “I guess I better go see if I can get you a collar.  Wouldn’t want to leave my puppy all naked.”

 

~~~

 

“Good boy, good boy!” Adaar sounds delighted, and holds out his hand with a piece of cookie nestled in the palm.  Cullen sits up on his haunches, feet tucked underneath him, the tail Adaar has made for him in the undercroft from bronto horn protruding from the cleft of his buttocks.  He leans forward, sniffs at the treat, then snaffles it, crunching it and then licking his lips.  Adaar smiles and says, “Now, roll over.”  Cullen barks and cocks his head, looking up at Adaar, grinning, his tongue lolling out.  “Roll over,” Adaar tells him, a hint of warning creeping into his voice, and Cullen wuffs softly and walks around in a circle, then flops down on the floor.  “Oh, is my sweet doggie all tired out?  My big dog.”  Adaar laughs and Cullen rolls onto his back, and squirms against the rug by the fire, trying to make his belly look as enticing as possible.  This is the best part for him now, the part which involves no thinking, just knowing, though he would be lying if he said that it had not improved the sex as well.  The collar around his neck has long since stopped chafing, the leather beginning to wear smooth, but he still feels it, hard against the skin of his throat, and is glad for the certainty, the safety it offers.  Adaar grins and shakes his head, telling Cullen, “Ha, well, you got there eventually.  Come on, time for a bath.”

 

Cullen sits up on his haunches again, frowning a little.  He watches, the heat from the fire almost scorching his naked back, as Adaar crosses the room, going to the antechamber.  There is a noise of something being dragged across the floor, then the sloshing of water.  Cullen whines deep in his throat; the noise of the water has reminded him of the need to relieve himself, and he looks around the room.  The balcony is freezing, small drifts of snow piled on the railing and in the corners.  That is where he has been trained to go, but inside is warm and he does not relish the thought of pissing in the snow.  The water continues to pour from the spigot of the barrel in the antechamber, the noise turning a pressing need into desperation. Before he realises what he is doing, before his human mind can stop him, he has crawled to the corner and cocked his leg up, beginning to relieve himself onto the stone.  All he feels in his dog mind is relief, but there is something within him that cannot believe what he has just done.  He is just finishing when Adaar calls, “Where are you, Pup?  Come on, boy, bathtime!”  Cullen whines again, looks at the puddle of piss cooling on the stones, and then barks once and sits next to it.  “Come  _ on _ _,_ boy!” he hears Adaar shout, and he barks again.  He hears Adaar mutter something, and then he comes out of the antechamber, and Cullen whimpers.  “What the…” Adaar begins, and then he looks at Cullen and strides over to where he sits on the floor.  Cullen looks up at him imploringly, and Adaar stares at the puddle for a moment before his nostrils flare and he says, “Pup, that was bad.”  He sighs through his nose and looks at Cullen sternly, then says, “I think you know what we’ve got to do now.”

 

Cullen whines, begins to back away, but is not fast enough.  He knows what’s coming, and a different part of him is appalled that he should be so exalted by it. Adaar bends, grasping him partly by the collar and partly by the skin of his neck and his hair, pushing him down.  The Inquisitor then pushes Cullen’s face forward, down into the puddle firmly, careful both that he should not injure his face on the stones, but also that he should get a good deal of urine in his nose and on his lips and cheeks.  “Bad dog,” Adaar says firmly, “Very bad dog.  We  don’t piss on the floor!” He sighs, a short, irritated noise, and lets go of Cullen’s neck.  Immediately, Cullen sits up, blows out his nose, trying to clear the smell, and shakes his head.  Finally, he looks up at Adaar.  The Vashoth is standing over him, a worried expression on his face, and so Cullen smiles a little to show he is alright.  Adaar smiles back, and kneels down next to Cullen, cupping his cheek and looking into his eyes.  Then he scratches Cullen behind the ear and says, “Got it, Pup?  I’ve gotta clean that up now.”  Cullen grins, his own piss dripping from his nose and chin.  He lolls his tongue out of his mouth, licking at the dampness, and then gives a happy yip.  Adaar laughs and says, “Bet that bath’s looking good now, huh?”  He rises, and Cullen follows him into the antechamber.

 

Cullen grins when he sees the bath, and barks, bounding forward as fast as he can on hands and knees.  He knocks into Adaar, struggles to get past him and Adaar laughs and tells him, “Hang on!  I’ll give you a hand in.”  Cullen finally makes it past Adaar, puts his hands up on the side of the large wooden tub, half full of water.  He struggles, trying to pull himself up onto the side, and Adaar laughs again, lifting him around the waist, and Cullen barks to cover a moan as the plug in his ass is wriggled slightly by the motion of the tail sliding along Adaar’s thigh.  He then half-falls into the water, sending a wave of it sloshing over the side and onto Adaar’s trousers.  But the Vashoth just laughs again, and Cullen shakes his shoulders and barks again, a loud, resounding noise of pure joy.  “Yeah, yeah, I know.  You love your bath,” Adaar grins, and picks up a bar of soap, the tallow stuff which is all that is coming in to Skyhold at the moment.  He dips his hands in the water and rolls the soap between his palms, making a lather that smells faintly of sheep.  Cullen stills in the water as Adaar rubs his hands quickly over his shoulders, his chest, his back, then back up to his face, behind his ears and in his hair.  He can feel himself growing harder under the warm water, his breathing slowing, shallowing out under Adaar’s attentions.  One big, soapy hand goes up his chest, sliding underneath the collar resting on Cullen’s clavicle; the other goes under the water, running smoothly down the line of Cullen’s spine until it reaches his tail.  

 

Cullen wimpers quietly, and Adaar murmurs, “My good boy, there’s a good puppy,” as he pulls the tail gently, the flare on the base of the plug pulling at Cullen’s entrance.  Cullen closes his eyes and barely covers another moan, turning it into a whine right at the last minute. He briefly considers ending the play so that Adaar might fuck him.  Maker, he wants to, but the feel of the water, the smooth slide of Adaar’s hands on his skin, the way that there is no expectation to do anything, he’s not in charge, he knows his dog mind and that is all, exerts such a pull on him that he stills the hand that has come out of the water half-way to the collar at his throat.  That is, until Adaar slides his hand out from under the collar, cups his cheek and pulls Cullen’s reddened face toward him and, putting their foreheads together, scratches once again behind Cullen’s ear.  He twists the plug gently with the other hand, just as he mutters, “Good dog,” and Cullen’s hand pulls twice, hard, at the collar around his throat.  

 

Adaar chuckles and says, “Welcome back,” but the last word is stifled as Cullen lunges forward, catching hold of the back of the Vashoth’s neck and pulling him into a kiss, all teeth and tongue.  He feels Adaar smile, and then he is being pulled out, dripping wet, out of the tub and into Adaar's arms.  Cullen struggles for purchase on the wet stones, but finds he is held too high to reach them, and so he gives up, hooking his legs instead around Adaar’s hips.  The plug shifts within him as the angle changes, pushing up against that secret spot within.  He groans and arches his hips, feels his cock grind against Adaar’s belly, leaving a smear of precum on the wet beige fabric.  The Vashoth growls low, “Not yet, not yet,” as he carries the dripping man through to the bed.  He laughs again, and lowers Cullen’s back slowly onto it, so that his legs and ass are off the side.  He ignores the way Cullen is pushing up against him rhythmically and takes his hands from behind Cullen’s back to undo the collar at his throat.  “That’s better,” Adaar mutters and then pushes up entirely, away from Cullen, who lies, panting and hard, half on and half off the bed.  The corner of Adaar’s mouth curls up, and he shakes his head a little, telling Cullen, “You’re so beautiful like this.  I’m going to fuck your mouth, and then I’m going to fuck your ass, make you come for me.  That alright?”

 

Cullen just nods.  He is long past being able to speak, his heart hammering in his chest.  He licks his lips, watching as Adaar slowly undoes the buckles on his shirt, shrugging it off quickly.  He then pulls at the cords on his breeches, the big fingers working impatiently at the knots, the only signal that he is approaching the same level of desperation as Cullen.  Finally he is free of them as well, and, naked, his grey skin sketched with scars and half-healed wounds, he goes to one knee between Cullen’s legs, licking and biting gently along the inside of one thigh, fingers running lightly up, up to circle restlessly along Cullen’s perineum, along his balls, his buttocks, the backs of his thighs.  Finally, Adaar has reached Cullen’s cock, and Cullen groans loudly and clenches his fists and all the muscles around the plug as Adaar’s tongue swipes a long, lovely arc from base to tip.  He knows Adaar will not fuck him as a dog, or at least he never has before. But there is a part of him that knows that as long as he is quiet, he can still be a dog inside, where it counts.  So he exhales a long breath out his mouth, hears the shudder in it, and clears his mind back to his dog self, uses the memory of the hard leather of the collar against his throat to bring himself back to that state.  

 

Adaar moves slowly up, pulling Cullen up a little further onto the bed. Then he smirks, kneels over Cullen’s hips and begins to walk on his knees up the bed to where Cullen lies.  His cock, now fully erect, sways with the movement, and Cullen cannot take his eyes off it.  He pushes up on his elbows, opens his mouth eagerly, and Adaar’s smirk turns to a grin as he smears Cullen’s lips with the moisture leaking from him.  He grasps Cullen’s chin with one hand, his own cock with the other, pulls Cullen’s mouth open wider and pushes in, the head of his cock coming to rest against the back of Cullen’s throat.  Cullen barely suppresses a gag as Adaar pushes a little further, his throat constricting around Adaar, who grins and says, “Little bit more.” Cullen breathes through his nose, trying not to pant, and looks up at Adaar through his lashes, eyes watering slightly.  The Vashoth is looking down at him, and as Cullen watches, Adaar begins to thrust, slowly, achingly slowly in and out of his mouth, still watching Cullen.  Cullen makes a strangled noise, half a moan, his own neglected cock almost painful in the extremity of his arousal, wet skin chilling him, despite the warmth of the room.  There is no noise other than the fire and the creak of the bed, the wet sucking noise of Adaar’s thrusts, the shallow rasp of their breathing.  Adaar moves his hand from Cullen’s chin, circling it around the back of his head to grasp the curls there, fingernails scraping against his scalp.  There is a sharp pain as he pulls Cullen’s hair, holds his head in place and begins to fuck into Cullen’s mouth harder.  And Maker, Cullen feels like, he feels like he won’t even need Adaar to fuck his ass to come, he digs his fingernails into his palms, he’s been told he can’t come like this, but it’s all he can do notoh!Maker! not to come and 

oh, won’t help, the little pain /won’t/help because, yesoh _ yes _ he’s   so, just  so, 

but no, wait, Adaar is slowing, and Cullen looks up at him through a film of tears, willing to beg if that’s what it will take.  Adaar sighs and pulls out of Cullen’s mouth, his hand still grasping the base of his cock.  He pauses for a moment, admiring Cullen’s face, the tears leaking from the corner of his eyes, his expression fuck-drunk and hazy already.  He grins at Cullen again.  Then, as he continues pulling at his cock, he lifts one leg over Cullen, turning and rising from the bed before telling him, “Roll over.”

 

For once, Cullen performs the command beautifully, just as Adaar had trained him.  His knees are over the side of the bed, and he pushes his feet onto the stone floor, raising his hips up off the bed while keeping his torso and head on the mattress.  The plug shifts again as he does it, and he is too far gone not to moan loudly.  His hand goes to his cock, almost without thinking, but Adaar’s voice comes from behind him to say, “Nope.  Leave it alone.”  There is a pause, and Cullen drops his hand back to the mattress before Adaar says quietly, “There’s a good dog.”

 

Cullen catches his breath.  Never before has Adaar referred to him as his dog when he was not wearing the collar.  While Cullen has often continued the play secretly, in his own mind, this is the first indication that he’s had that Adaar might be continuing it as well.  There is a pressure next to his head, and Cullen opens his eyes to see Adaar’s hand, holding the collar.  He moans again, then whispers, “Yes.  Please, oh please, put it on me, oh Maker…”

“And the leash?”  Adaar’s voice is rough, and Cullen senses that he is only holding back by the very slimmest of margins himself, and Maker, he wants it, he wants it so badly it almost hurts.  But all that comes out is a gasp, and Adaar waits, so Cullen summons the last vestiges of control to say, clearly and firmly, “Yes.”

 

He hears the exhalation of breath from Adaar, and feels the worn leather go around his throat.  He feels it being buckled, the tensing and loosing of the bindings, and then the clip of the leash.  The leash relaxes, and then Cullen smells the sharp aroma of the oil Adaar uses when he sharpens his sword, bitter and slightly metallic.  He feels Adaar slowly begin to apply the oil to his stretched ass, around the rim, the light, almost delicate touch perfectly at odds with the vicious fuck he knows he is about to receive.  He moans again, all the muscles in his body trembling with anticipation, and Adaar pulls and pushes, a little bit out, and back in, a little more out.  Cullen grits his teeth, barely breathing, and finally, finally, feels the last of the plug being drawn away.  He sighs, waiting, can visualise Adaar’s face as he looks at his body, and wuffs softly into the bedcovers.  Adaar growls low in his throat, and without preamble, puts one hand on Cullen’s lower back, and inserts a thumb up into Cullen with the other.  Cullen whines, high-pitched and pleading, and Adaar runs the thumb around in a semi-circle, pushing down.  When he is satisfied, he removes the thumb and strokes the head of his oiled cock against Cullen.  He growls again, and thrusts, hard into Cullen, forcing a noise half-way between a moan and a growl from the other man.  He thrusts again, deeper than before; Adaar is made long, though he has told Cullen that he’s not especially well endowed for Qunari.  His rhythm shallows out a little, and Cullen feels the end of the leash being taken up, the tension growing against his throat.  His eyes go half lidded as Adaar increases both the depth of his thrusts and the tightness of the leash.  Cullen arches his neck away, pushing up on his forearms, which increases the tightness still further.  Then he thrusts his own hips back, powerless to stop now, completely abandoned.  “Howl, dog, I wanna hear you howl, come on, puppy, howl when you come for me,” Adaar growls, his voice little more than a deep rasp.  And with that he grasps Cullen’s cock with his free hand, pulls with the other hand and thrusts his full length up inside Cullen, hips pounding with increasing urgency against Cullen, who pants, arching his own hips back further, and as Adaar’s length rubs against that sweet spot inside him, he pants once, twice, then throws back his head against the leash and howls, howls until the room seems to resound with it, howls as he comes, howls away the responsibility, the death, the betrayal, all the bitterness.  He howls as he comes, howls as he has been told to do, because he is a good dog.

 

~~~

 

“...not have you calling the readiness of my troops into question, Leiliana.  They are ready.  This is an excellent opportunity to blood the new recruits, to solidify the alliance with the Chevaliers, and to deal an important blow to the enemy.”  Cullen folds his arms across his chest and waits, but Leiliana is looking to the Inquisitor, as if she expects him to weigh in with a decision in her favour.  Adaar looks at the maps for a moment, and says to the room at large, “What is the disposition of the Chevaliers?  Could we recruit from amongst their number?”

“Only by proving ourselves,” Josephine interjects before Cullen can reply, and he nods his agreement as she continues, “The Commander has the right of it in this matter, I believe.  Solidifying alliances with this particular group will involve a show of strength, rather than anything more...subtle.”

 

Leilana cocks her head, looks from Cullen to Josephine and raises her eyebrows slightly.  Then she nods, acquiescing the point.  Cullen allows himself a small smile, and can see, from the corner of his eye, Adaar looking at him directly.  He does not look back at him, however, instead returning his gaze to the maps, markers and notes strewn over their surface.  Here, Val Royeaux, where they have been just a few short weeks ago, attending the Empress Celene’s soiree at the Winter Palace.  There, the Storm Coast, and across the Waking Sea from there, Kirkwall and all it’s attendant memories.  Cullen clenches his jaw, barely hearing Josephine’s report, mentally flailing against the tide of that dark time.  He would rather endure a thousand soirees than go within hailing distance of Kirkwall.  He glances at the Inquisitor, who sighs a little, and waves a hand in Josephine’s direction.  Adaar smiles as Josephine stutters to a stop, her report half finished, and he asks her, “Did we get it done, or not?”

“Y-yes, Inquisitor.”

“Then I don’t need to know the exhaustive detail, my dear Madam Diplomat.”  Adaar’s smile widens, and he inclines his head, “That is what we have you for, is it not?  Exhaustive detail?  And the control thereof?”

Josephine laughs a little, and smiles at him.  For all that he is blunt sometimes, Adaar is also charming, and seems to be able to wind Josephine in particular around his finger.  “Then, advisors, begone.  When I return from Griffon’s Peak, we will meet to discuss again, but in the interim, I’m sure that we all have more than enough to do.  Fair?”

“Fair,” Cullen repeats, and Josephine and Leiliana both smile and nod.  Adaar waves them off, and then a look of some implacable emotion crosses his face, and he says, “Oh.  Not you, Cullen.  I have a matter of some urgency which needs your inspection.”

 

Cullen frowns, wondering.  Leliana and Josephine both depart, Leliana casting a concerned look behind her as she closes the door.  When they are gone, Adaar only looks at Cullen across the War Table, his expression unreadable.  Cullen draws in breath, and it is on the tip of his tongue to ask what it is the Inquisitor wants with him, when Adaar grins, and says, “Just a minute.”  He crouches, one hand on the table, and appears to be looking for something hidden underneath the table.  When he rises, he has in his hand a small sack, from which he pulls Cullen’s collar, his leash, and a muzzle.  The final item is a small earthen pot.  “My dog and I are venturing out today,” Adaar says, as he unpacks these items from the sack.  “And since he is a mabari, and bred for battle, he’s going to wear a kaddis for me.”

 

Cullen almost stops breathing.  Various suggestions swarm into his mind; the power of the war paint, sticky and almost painful against his skin, the combined scents of the leather of the muzzle, the herbs of the paint mingling with the smell of their sweat, the unbridled relief of being held against the War Table, Adaar inside him.  Underlying this, however, is the terror of being discovered here.  While the location is not exactly public, it is a far cry from the privacy offered in the Inquisitorial apartments.  He takes a deep breath, and as Adaar continues to look at him steadily over the War Table, Cullen swallows and begins to remove his pauldron.  Adaar watches him as he unbuckles his rerebrace, then fumbles with the light mail underneath.  Eventually, Cullen stands naked in the chill room, his skin turning to gooseflesh.  He feels a shudder go through him which has nothing to do with the temperature of the room as they look at each other.  Adaar picks up the collar and leash and circles the War Table, never dropping his eyes from Cullen.  As the collar goes around his throat, Cullen shivers again in anticipation, feels saliva well in his mouth at the smell of the leather.  Adaar clips the leash into place, and tells him, “Now, you remember your signal - two tugs on the collar.  Any time you want to stop.”  He waits for a moment, then as a smile touches his lips, he says, “Up, dog.”

 

Cullen clambers up onto the War Table, onto his hands and knees amongst the paper and quills, the ink and daggers which mark points of interest.  Adaar walks around the side of the table, pulling on the lead as he does, and Cullen is obliged to crawl after him.  “Good dog,” Adaar says, and wraps the leather of the lead around his fist as he reaches for the muzzle.  “Down,” he says, looking at Cullen, who immediately bends forward onto his forearms, ass in the air.  “Good boy!  What a good boy,” Adaar croons, and Cullen can hear the smile in his voice as the muzzle is buckled into place around his head.  He whines a little, and Adaar tells him, “Good dogs always wear muzzles when they go out.  We wouldn’t want you biting anyone, would we?”  He laughs a little, and Cullen barks once, loudly.  Adaar opens the little pot and dips the first two fingers of his right hand into it.  They come out covered to the first knuckle with thick white paint.  He slowly applies a thick band across Cullen’s forehead and over the bridge of his nose above the muzzle, wiping two lines under his eyes.  He re-dips his fingers in the paint and pulls them apart, drawing his fingers in parallel lines around Cullen’s wrists.  He then proceeds, pausing now and again to re-apply the paint to his fingers, to draw lines down Cullen’s shoulders, ending each line with a fingerprint.  Each line sears Cullen’s skin briefly, not painful, but hot-feeling, then the burning sensation fades.  The paint smells lovely, earthy, like the lake shore after torrential rain.  “Turn around,” Adaar tells him, relinquishing the leash, and Cullen rises, shuffles in a circle, then sits on his haunches, his back to the Inquisitor.  He continues to apply the paint, now down Cullen’s back in long, horizontal stripes.  Cullen whimpers, and Adaar murmurs, “Good boy, nearly done.  Down,” he tells Cullen, who slides his hands forward, shunting parchment from the surface of the table and onto the floor as he again bends forward, taking his weight onto his forearms.  He can feel his heart beginning to thud in his chest with anticipation, and his patience is rewarded.  Adaar’s breath is warm on his ass as he breathes, “Good dog, good, good dog,” and licks a long stripe from Cullen’s balls up his perineum to his hole.  Cullen whines, and he feels his cock begin to pulse in the same rhythm as his heart beat.  Adaar’s tongue continues to lap at the entrance, pushing at the tightness, and Cullen whines again, long and low.  The Vashoth snakes his hands around Cullen’s thighs, grips his hips tightly and pulls Cullen’s ass back against his face.  Cullen whines again, higher pitched than before, as the Inquisitor continues to lap at him.  He can feel Adaar’s fingernails digging painfully into the skin of his hips, pulling a loud bark from him, and he pants as his cock continues to harden.  But soon, all too soon, the Inquisitor draws his face away and says, almost growling himself, “That’s my dog.”  He draws in a deep breath and says in a stronger voice, “Now, up!  Let me look at you.”  Cullen rises from his half prone position, and turns, staring directly into Adaar’s eyes.  He blinks and tilts his head, then yips expectantly, feels his cock bob against his stomach as he does, and Adaar laughs and says, “I haven’t got any cookies today.  And you’re being such a good boy.”  He scratches Cullen under the chin, underneath the muzzle, and Cullen snuffles into his hand through the muzzle, then growls.  “Hey, hey,” Adaar says, “I got other ways to reward my good dog.”  The hand under his jaw turns hard and he pulls Cullen’s head up, twisting it painfully to the right.  He looks into Cullen’s face for a moment, and then says, “I got ways to punish a bad dog too.”  They stare at each other for what seems like a long time to Cullen, and then he pulls his head free and growls again.  He is not even thinking now; perhaps it is the restriction of the muzzle, or the kaddis, or the new location, but he wants to show Adaar that he is a war dog, not some spoilt beast with a pedigree and not much else.  He wants to fight today, and so he growls again and crouches, looking as if he will spring.  

 

The look in Adaar’s eyes is one of pure warning, and he says, “Dog,” in such a forceful tone of voice that Cullen pauses for a moment.  Then he shakes his head and growls again, and then with a snarl, launches himself at Adaar.  He throws himself against the Vashoth’s chest, snapping at him through the muzzle.  Adaar is caught off balance, but recovers quickly and grapples with Cullen, pushing him back.  Cullen’s knees slide in the paper on the table and he scrabbles, trying to maintain his purchase; Adaar sees this momentary lapse and quickly pushes his advantage, throwing his weight against Cullen, pushing him down onto the table, using the backwards momentum against him.  Cullen’s chin slams hard into the table, the muzzle cutting into his cheek hard enough to break the skin and send a sharp bolt of pain lancing into his jaw.  He wants to make Adaar hurt him, wants to be held down and made to do things that he could never bring himself to do in his human mind.  He wants to be broken, no,  needs  it, and he snarls through the pain in his cheek and jaw, tries to rise when Adaar places a hand in the middle of his back and pushes him back down again.  With his other hand, Adaar takes up the leash and yanks hard on it, earning a growl which ends in a whimper from Cullen.  Then he leans in to mutter into Cullen’s ear, “That is a very, very bad dog.  I’ve a mind to drag you out to the yard and show all of Skyhold what happens to bad dogs like you.  Maybe I should get the new recruits to look after you.  You could sleep in their quarters, they could each have a turn owning my pretty little puppy.  See how you growl then.  My bad, bad dog.  Would you howl for them, Dog?  Could they make you howl the way I do?”

 

Cullen barks, twice, in response to these questions.  His human mind is utterly disgusted with how badly he wants Adaar to do all those things; drag him out into the yard, naked and painted, leashed and muzzled, fuck him bloody in front of them all, then give him over to the recruits to do with as they please.   No and  yes he seems to think simultaneously, and he struggles hard against Adaar’s hand, which bears down on his back more firmly as he squirms, wondering how far he will have to go to for the Inquisitor to make good on his threat.  “Or maybe I ought to leave you here instead,” the Vashoth murmurs, his tone of voice considering.  “Maybe I should leave you locked in here, all naked and panting.  Maybe that would show my bad dog that I really mean it.”  Cullen whines, and lies still at the thought - the idea of being alone, in such a state of need, terrifies him.  He whimpers, begging in his doggy fashion, and Adaar strokes the hand which was holding him against the War Table along his back without relinquishing the grasp he has on the lead.  “Is that your apology, Dog?”  Cullen wuffs softly, and blinks, trying to roll his eyes up to meet Adaar’s.  He follow the line of the Inquisitor’s arm, up to his shoulder, but he cannot see Adaar’s face.  There is silence in the room, only the pounding of Cullen’s heartbeat thrumming in his ears.  Footsteps echo from the Great Hall, and Cullen hears a man’s laughter.  He doesn’t dare whine or growl now, his desire to please intermingled with his desire for Adaar.  He hears the Inquisitor sigh, and then his master tells him, “Get up.”

 

Cullen does, scrambling to hands and knees as quickly as he can.  As he does, Adaar begins to undo the laces on his breeches, his erection pushing at the fabric, making it bulge obscenely.  He undoes the top part of the lacings, then looks at Cullen, as if thinking.  Then, the ghost of a smile touches his lips and he moves his hands instead to the buckles on Cullen’s muzzle, freeing his mouth.  He drops it to the floor carelessly, and tells Cullen, “You want me?  Then work for me, Dog.  Show me how loyal you are.”  For a moment, Cullen isn’t sure what Adaar wants him to do, he tilts his head, watching his master silently for a long minute.  Then, as Adaar just continues to stare at him, Cullen pads forward, bending slightly so that his mouth approaches the ties on the front of the Inquisitor’s breeches.  Slowly he pushes his face further forward and scents along the line of Adaar’s cock, then puts a paw on one thigh and whines.  The Inquisitor just looks at him though, makes no move to push him away or pull him forward, so Cullen takes the middle of the half-unbound laces in his teeth and begins to worry at them, growling quietly. Once he thinks he has them loosened sufficiently, he uses the paw he has on Adaar already to push up and slide down, pulling the front of the breeches open wider.  He hears Adaar’s breathing start to quicken as his cock pulls free of the fabric.  It is swollen and dark, moving slightly with every beat of Adaar’s heart, and Cullen yips and shuffles closer. He sits up, looking at Adaar intently, and the Vashoth smiles at him, and tells him, “You’re not out of the doghouse yet, boy.”

 

Cullen barks twice, happily.  Being on the War Table like this puts him at a good height; Adaar is too tall for them to be able to do this comfortably, and Cullen cannot help but smile up at Adaar as he opens his mouth as wide as he can, taking just the head of Adaar’s cock into his mouth.  He rubs his tongue along the underside of it, and Adaar puts one hand, then the other on his head, toying with his hair, curling it around his fingers, pulling it gently, scratching softly on skin in the back of Cullen’s ears.  Cullen wimpers a little, feels his own cock begin to smear a damp patch on his naked stomach, and sucks hard, twice, which elicits a moan from Adaar.  The Vashoth smells of salt and blood to Cullen, sex and death together, entwined, and he cannot get enough, breathes deeply in through his nose as he pulls more of Adaar into him, the spit sluicing around inside his mouth.  Adaar groans again, and his hands scrape into Cullen’s scalp, pushing himself further in, and Cullen is aching now, wanting to be fucked so badly; but he knows that first, Adaar has to show him that he is just a dog, he can’t lead this dance, not forever, anyway.  He hears voices again in the corridor, a concerned tone, but it is so far off as to be completely beneath his conscious mind’s notice, especially when Adaar pulls his head back, withdrawing himself from Cullen’s mouth.  He bends and mutters, breath hot against Cullen’s ear, “Dog, I wanna fuck you.  It’s gonna be rough, because you’ve been a bad, bad dog, so remember about your collar, alright?  But...”  He pauses, draws in a breath, and then in a rush says, “I just can’t leave you alone, my beautiful puppy.”

 

Cullen barks twice loudly, and in his excitement, rises up on his knees, placing his forearms on Adaar’s chest.  He barks again, a barrage of noise this time, and Adaar laughs.   Maker, oh Maker rises like a bubble in the dark pool of his mind, and he falls to his hands and knees again, crawling around in a circle on the table, parchment crunching and crackling under him.  Adaar guides his legs off the table, pulling at his thighs insistently, his need obvious in the touch, until Cullen is resting prone on his chest against the table.  Cullen sighs, wuffing softly, the strong, dead-tree smell of the paper under his face erasing the living scent of Adaar from his nose.  He pushes his face up off the table, and stifles a gasp when Adaar, without warning, curls a spit-slicked finger up inside him, and then moans, a long, low noise which turns into a high pitched whine at the burn when Adaar adds a second finger.  The Inquisitor moves his hand back and forth, slowly, moving deeper which each successive thrust, and then Cullen hears him spit twice into his other hand.  The friction is eased only slightly by the lubrication afforded by the spit, and Cullen briefly wonders how much pain he’ll be in after this.   Worth it , he thinks, and then Adaar is beginning to withdraw his fingers, hears the spitting noise again. And then, with a grunt, the Inquisitor has forced himself into Cullen.  

 

His hips hit the sharp edge of the War Table as Adaar thrusts in a shallow motion into him, once, again, the leash taut around his throat, and Cullen gasps at the sharp pain. Then he growls and forces his hips back into Adaar, and barks twice, trying to encourage the Vashoth to let go a little more.  Adaar takes his invitation, beginning to thrust more recklessly into Cullen, who claws his hands into the paper under his hands, completely unaware that he is also drooling onto the maps in his utter abandonment, the pain and the pleasure blurring.  “Oh, pup, pup,” Adaar says, his voice harsh and breath gasping, “You’re such a good dog, will you… oh, shit,” he draws out the sibilant start of the work, hisses it, and Cullen whines again, then barks in his delight at provoking such a reaction from his beloved master.  “Good dog, good dog, good,” Adaar repeats, and as Cullen feels him increase in pace, and the Inquisitor reaches under his body to clutch at his cock, the door opens, and the kennel master and two recruits enter the room, one with a large stick, and the other with a sack.  

  
They stare at the sight which greets them - Cullen, naked, streaked in white, a collar around his throat and the leash clutched in the Inquisitor’s right hand.  Adaar doesn’t stop his motions, just keeps fucking into Cullen, hard and grunting with every thrust.  Cullen is too far gone to care, he stares at the kennel master as he pants, pupils blown, mouth open, his entire body rocking under the Inquisitor.  Cullen suddenly growls viciously at the little group, showing all his teeth.   Mine he thinks,  he’s mine, mine , and as Adaar pulls at Cullen’s cock once, twice, three times, he comes, hard, he throws back his head and howls, he knows in his heart that he is a good dog.  A good dog who loves his master.


End file.
